


addiction

by PaintedVanilla



Series: something about him [2]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Making Out, Married Couple, Medication, Open Marriage, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 16:50:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17625989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaintedVanilla/pseuds/PaintedVanilla
Summary: Kissing Wilson makes him feel like the only person in the world who means anything, the only person who deserves to be treated with care. The feeling is addictive.





	1. Chapter 1

When House returned from Mayfield, Wilson was working late.

He had something that had to be turned in tomorrow;  _ had  _ to be turned in tomorrow. As in, asking for an extension was out of the question. But he would start to write and then he would remember House was sitting at home, a mere few miles away instead of the several that lay between Plainsbury and Mayfield. And then Wilson would sit there with his hand on his phone, knowing he shouldn’t call,  _ knowing  _ he had important things to be doing. But House was important, too, and Wilson would much rather be doing him. 

He’d ended up in Cuddy’s office, knowing he was going to be sent right back upstairs, but he figured it couldn’t hurt to try.

Cuddy had looked up at him expectantly, and then confused when she noticed he wasn’t holding anything. “Do you have your report?”

Wilson swallowed. “Is there any possible way it could wait a day?”

Cuddy had frowned, had started to tell him no, but then Wilson tacked on, “House is home.”

She had softened immediately, not even hesitating. “Go home, Wilson.”

House had been waiting for him, and Wilson could barely shut the door before he grabbed his husbands face, pressed him up against the bookshelf, kissed him fervently. They were alone, no audience of other ward patients, doctors, nurses - just Wilson and House alone in their apartment, and Wilson’s self control was dwindling. He was addicted to House, and he needed his next fix immediately.

He’d broken the kiss and pressed smaller, sweeter ones to his jaw, his neck, any skin he had been able to reach, and House had complied. He’d reached up and shoved Wilson’s jacket off his shoulders, untucked his shirt, slipped his hands underneath to feel the bare skin. 

“Your leg.” Wilson had said softly, still peppering House’s skin with kisses, “How’s your leg?”

“S’fine.” House had said absently, then he ran his hands up Wilson’s chest and started on his tie, “S’fine. Great. I don’t care. Green. I’m green, James,  _ fuck,  _ I missed you.”

Wilson kissed him again. “I missed you, too.”

He took over undoing his tie, then, since House was having trouble with it. He tossed it vaguely in the direction of the couch, hoping it didn’t land on the floor, but not caring enough to check. He kissed House again and then laid a trail of kisses along his jaw, all the way up to his ear. “Tell me what you want, Greg.”

House ran his hands along Wilson’s side, then looped his fingers through the belt loops on his pants and pulled him closer. “Make love to me.”

Wilson had moaned. House didn’t agree to make love very often, and even when he did, it was never his idea. But that was his requested welcome home from Mayfield, and Wilson had obliged immediately, pulling House down the hall - mindful of his leg - and into bed with him. Wilson had never seen House so at ease in an intimate setting, especially one so loving. House had actually let Wilson be affectionate with him, without squirming or getting paranoid that someone was going to see them. What’s more, House was being affectionate in return. 

God, Wilson hoped whatever this was, it was more than just a reaction to being intimate with him for the first time in months. He hoped he wouldn’t have to deprive himself to reach this level of intimacy again.

When Alvie got out of Mayfield, he had no where to return to.

He had no husband waiting to greet him with kisses and  _ I love you’s  _ at the door. He felt foolish for still thinking he might have two lovers. Neither House nor Wilson had been back to visit. But he still found himself standing outside 221B.

The knock on the door is so quiet, Wilson almost doesn’t hear it as he was getting ready for bed. Nevertheless, he wound his way to the front door and opened it to find Alvie, armed only with a backpack and a sheepish look on his face.

“Alvie!” Wilson says softly, surprised. 

Alvie blushes. “That’s me.”

“What are you doing here?” Wilson asks.

_ Dammit. _ Alvie was hoping he wouldn’t ask that question. He blushes even harder and struggles to come up with an answer. “I dunno.”

Neither of them say anything for a moment; neither of them know what  _ to _ say. Wilson looks him up and down, and then he opens the door a little wider and steps to the side. “Do you want to come in?”

Alvie swallows nervously. “ _ Can _ I come in?”

Wilson smiles at him, and  _ fuck _ , he’s so empathetic, his whole body seems to radiate some sort of kindness that Alvie doesn’t know how to interpret. He’s almost the polar opposite of House. House is bristly and walks around like he’s trying to avoid speaking to as many people as he can for the rest of his life. Wilson is soft, his presence wordlessly inviting Alvie to start a conversation with him.

Alvie steps inside hesitantly, and Wilson shuts the door behind him. The apartment is warm, both in temperature and environment. It’s cluttered, not necessarily homey, but very lived in. Alvie gets the feeling House and Wilson are the only ones who ever come in and out.

“How long have you been out of Mayfield?” Wilson asks, startling Alvie. 

He turns back around to face him, suddenly nervous again. “A couple days.”

Wilson looks at him curiously, probably wondering where he’s been for those couple days, but the polite smile never leaves his face. “You’re on your meds?”

“Yes,” Alvie says, and his hand goes reflexively to the pocket of his backpack where his meds are tucked away. He looks around for a moment, then asks, “Is House here?”

“He’s with a patient,” Wilson tells him. “Usually, he’s home by six, but his curiosity has been piqued. Also, the guy is dying rapidly, so he doesn’t have a lot of time to come home to think about it.”

Alvie grins, and Wilson looks at him with sympathy and asks, “Where are you staying, Alvie?”

The grin slips off his face, and Alvie looks away. “Um,” he says, trying to think of a better answer than  _ the bus station.  _ “I… got a cousin in Arizona.”

Wilson raises his eyebrows. “So you just decided to stop by? Two thousand miles away?”

Alvie blushes. “I haven’t actually  _ gone _ to Arizona yet.”

Wilson gets the hint that Alvie doesn’t really want to  _ say _ he doesn’t have anywhere to stay, so rather than press him for details, he takes him by his arm and leads him further into the apartment. 

“Have you eaten?” Wilson asks, and Alvie shakes his head. Wilson turns to look at him curiously. “You know, if I remember correctly, you were quite talkative at Mayfield. I think that’s why House liked you so much.”

Alvie blushes so hard, for a moment he can’t respond. “House hates how much I talk.”

“Says House,” Wilson says. “House  _ says _ he hates my addiction to neediness, but he doesn’t  _ really,  _ because he’s the neediest person I’ve ever met. He  _ says _ he hates how much you talk, but he doesn’t  _ really _ . He likes it because it means he doesn’t have to fill the space up himself.”

Alvie looks away, embarrassed, but he’s smiling. “You’re addicted to neediness?”

Wilson grins, a faint blush on his cheeks. “Says House.”

Wilson feeds Alvie, which is nice, considering he’s been living off of whatever he can scavenge from the bus station for the past couple of days. Wilson looks tired, but he stays in the kitchen with Alvie while he eats. Oddly enough, it never feels awkward; Wilson’s presence is simply comforting. When Alvie finishes eating, neither of them speak for a long time; Wilson seems too tired and Alvie seems too embarrassed.

Finally, Alvie says, “Thank you for, um. Feeding me.”

Wilson hums and takes Alvie’s plate; he puts it in the sink but doesn’t bother to actually wash it. He’ll do it in the morning. He leans against the counter, facing Alvie, much closer than he was before, and Alvie can feel his face getting hot again. 

“Alvie,” Wilson says, and his voice is low and Alvie shudders a little bit. “What are you doing here?”

Alvie stutters to try to reply, but before he can bullshit an answer, Wilson leans forward and kisses him, and Alvie realizes he really  _ is  _ the polar opposite of House. House’s kisses are rough and mean, characterized by the scratch of his stubble and the occasional clashing of their teeth. Wilson is clean shaven, pressing a closed mouthed kiss to his lips. It’s gentle and soft and it makes Alvie weak at the knees.

It only lasts a few seconds, before Wilson breaks it, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead he stays close to Alvie, their foreheads pressed together. Alvie wonders if he can feel how hot his face is. 

Wilson gives him several more chaste kisses in the same manner, and after each one Alvie feels a little dizzier, until he stops wondering if coming here was a bad idea. He stops wondering about anything at all, besides when Wilson is going to kiss him next. Kissing Wilson makes him feel like the only person in the world who means anything, the only person who deserves to be treated with care. The feeling is addictive.

Finally, Wilson pulls away for real. Alvie whines at the loss, which makes him chuckle. He doesn’t take his hands off where he’s laid them on Alvie’s waist, though, which is comforting. “Are you really planning on making the trip out to Arizona?”

Alvie hesitates. “I was kinda gonna base that decision on what happened when I showed up here.”

Wilson huffs out a laugh. “Well, I hope you’re picking up on the positive reception.”

Alvie smiles nervously. “It’s kind of hard to miss.”

Wilson grins and gives him another kiss, then he says, “Here’s what I think you should do,” another kiss, “put your bag in our room,” another kiss, “put your meds on the bottom shelf of the medicine cabinet,” another kiss, “brush your teeth,” another kiss, “and come get into bed with me.”

Alvie leans forward and kisses Wilson this time, eager and hungry, and he can feel Wilson smiling into it. He breaks it after a moment, though, pressing a chaste kiss to his jaw that makes Alvie’s heart beat a little too fast. “I have something for you,” he tells Alvie. “I’ll give it to you after you do that, though.”

Alvie can’t stop himself, the thought pops into his head and he can’t keep it from coming out of his mouth. “Is it your dick?”

Wilson laughs, a blush tinting his cheeks, one to match Alvie’s over saying that out loud. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s - ” Wilson pauses, still giggling. “Shit, that was cute. Hurry up and do that. I want you in bed.”

“Yes, okay, yes,” Alvie says quickly, scrambling to do so. He gets two steps away from Wilson before he has to stop and turn around. “Um… where’s your room?”

There are three shelves in the medicine cabinet; Alvie can’t help his curiosity. On the top shelf is a non-narcotic pain killer, a vial of testosterone, and a bottle of antidepressants that looks like it’s never been touched. Prescribed to Gregory House by Dr. James Wilson. On the middle shelf is a bottle of antidepressants and a bottle of mood levelers that look like they get touched every day. Touched slightly less often is a second vial of testosterone. Prescribed to James Wilson by Dr. Gregory House. 

The bottom shelf is empty; Alvie places his own bottle of  antipsychotics and his own vial of testosterone there. He stares at the medicine cabinet for a moment before he shuts it; the addition of his own medication makes him feel stupidly warm. 

He brushes his teeth and finds Wilson sitting on the edge of the bed, fiddling with something in his hands that makes Alvie’s heart stop. 

“Hey,” Wilson says, and hands him the note he passed him in Mayfield so long ago.

Alvie takes it gingerly, his eyes wide as he unfolds it. It’s the same note; just as worn from how many times he folded and unfolded it, read and reread it. Wilson’s written words are still there, scribed in pen and hardly faded, only a little smudged. 

Alvie looks up at him. “I totally thought you threw this away.”

Wilson tilts his head slightly. “I told you I would hold onto it.”

“I thought you were lying,” Alvie says, surprised. 

“Why would I lie?” Wilson asks.

Alvie wants to tell him exactly why.  _ Because I was so scared I wouldn’t see you after Mayfield. I was so scared I would never get to kiss you. I was so fucking scared the note was just a contrived token of affection you never intended to make good on. I was so certain it meant nothing. I was so certain  _ I _ meant nothing. I was so fucking certain I would be forgotten as soon as Mayfield was a part of House’s past. _

But maybe that’s a little much to admit to right now. Instead, he swallows nervously, twirling the note around in his hands. “Doesn’t… everybody lie?”

Wilson stares at him for a moment, then he smiles softly, but the look in his eyes is so much darker and Alvie feels arousal pool in his stomach as Wilson pulls him down into a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for tedding my talk... gonna try to write and post part two later tonight :0)


	2. Chapter 2

House doesn’t make it home that night. If he had, he would’ve found someone asleep in his spot (being the little spoon). But his patient keeps him up all night, which is an unusual occurrence and one that would bother House on most occasions, if not for the fact that he solved the puzzle. Not a moment too soon, in fact; guy was on his deathbed and he’d already be in his Chicago overcoat if not for him.

_ God damn,  _ House thinks as he makes his way home that morning,  _ I am so fucking smart. _

Wilson is awake when he gets home, thank God. House would have woken him up anyways to tell him this. Once he shuts the front door and he’s enveloped in the solitude of their apartment, he can’t help the smile that breaks out on his face.

“Wilson!” he calls, and his husband appears around the kitchen corner. He’s about to say something, but House cuts him off. “You are never going to guess how I saved this guy's life. No, wait, you’re never gonna guess  _ why  _ I had to save his life. Okay, wait, here, do the differential with me from the beginning, you’re never gonna fucking guess where it ends up.”

He’s made his way over to him by then, and he grabs his arm and pulls him into a chaste kiss, before he starts to walk further into the kitchen. “Okay, patient presents with - ”

He makes eye contact with Alvie, and freezes. There’s a long lapse of silence, during which House and Alvie both grow hot with embarrassment, and Wilson stands between them looking delighted. 

Finally, House says, “You didn’t tell me we had a guest.”

“You didn’t give me a chance,” Wilson says, smiling. “Please, continue with the differential.”

House isn’t listening to him, though. His mind, high on a rare surplus of serotonin, has switched it’s focus onto something that makes him equally as happy, not that he’d ever admit such a thing. He steps forward, cupping Alvie’s face in his hands and kissing him quite fervently. Alvie nearly melts on the spot, barely stopping himself from leaning against House for support. He leans back against the counter instead, since his knees are hardly holding him up. 

When House finally lets go of him, Alvie stays leaned up against the counter, absurdly flustered and unable to stop smiling. House takes a tentative step back, unsure of what he wants to do now. Getting Wilson to play the differential game and pinning Alvie to the kitchen counter both sound like equally appealing options. 

Wilson is still leaning against the kitchen doorway, still looking pleased at the scene he just witnessed. When House makes eye contact with him, he smiles a little wider. “Patient presents with?”

House glances at Alvie, who still looks blissed out, and he figures it can wait. A differential with his husband is basically foreplay, anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave a comment cowards


End file.
